Read Only to Kill Time

Thanks Sharpie!

Paté in the post. Classic!

This one isn't up to standard. It's really quite boring. If in doubt, skip straight to the language blunder.

This blog has gained a new purpose. Aside from me being able to gloat about what a great time I'm having, it’s now my main method of killing the copious amounts of contact hours I seemed to have regained over the last two days due to two totally unrelated and classically French impediments to actually gaining any sort of university education.  Yesterday, I couldn’t get into my lectures due to unruly students blockading the entrance to my faculty. Yep you guessed it, campaigning against the government. And then today we had a no show from our teacher, which meant that a seminar of over 70 students was left in the lurch causing havoc in a tiny corridor for 45 minutes before we all came to our senses and left. The only education I’ve had today is learning about circumcision in French for almost two hours (don’t even ask) as part of a history course, so YAY for today.

Quick word on the last trip I went on with the Erasmus group: Ile de Frioul. A great little island just off the coast of Marseille, which provides visitors with a distanced (and for that reason much more pleasant) view of the city. It was great, a bit deserted but dramatic scenery and off the beaten track. I sat under my umbrella like a good little Grandma all day, reading Harry Potter in French with a baguette in hand. And the best part was we had a visit from Nicole (a friend from Bath)! On Sunday I showed her around the city and we even found a lovely local concert in the cathedral to sit in on.

Chateau d'f

Ile de Frîoul

Sarah and Georgina

Nicole visits Aix!

Going back through Marseille to get to the island was certainly an interesting experience. All the pickpocketing children I mentioned in a previous entry? All stationed at exactly the same places on the way up to the train station in the same clothes and everything. But aside from that we actually witnessed a couple of crimes of which one was comical but the other was just downright heartless. The first; a guy parked up on a motorbike, locked it up and walked away. A few moments later another bloke turns up. Not knowing how to address the situation of a lock on the motorbike, he decided to steal both of the wheels on the vehicle. I shouldn’t have found that funny but I did. The other thing we saw genuinely made me want to cry. I was waiting by the tills for my friends to pay in the main Monoprix in Marseille, when a little old lady came running up to me asking where her dog was. I’d been there for a while and hadn’t seen a dog and explained this to her. She burst in to tears; turns out someone had stolen her dog after she tied it up behind the tills! She hobbled off around the shop to find her dog but it was obvious it wasn’t around. Classic Marseille.

Touching now on a rather embarrassing confession about the choir. After receiving a lot of stick for my elation of being accepted into the choir against their normal membership rules, it turns out I actually can’t join properly due to my timetable, which is unchangeable. I was really disappointed about this, but I did think about it afterwards and I feel like I achieved a lot just going to that first rehearsal. It’s not the kind of thing I would usually put myself out there to do, especially in another language! Instead I’ve decided to join the Mock European Union of Aix-en-Provence so I can debate EU policies representing the UK. I don’t know quite how that is going to go though. The main point is that I can argue my socks off, which we all know I LOVE doing. 

Culture Shock

In the last few weeks this has come in two forms:

1)   Pure disdain for the French university system (see rant below)

2)   Getting emotional at the weirdest reminders of home. For example, I found my passport in the bottom of my bag and started tearing up. I also watched the Last Night of the Proms on iPlayer and was bawling the entire time. Particularly the Mary Poppins set they did. Feed the Birds was a killer. The worst one was finding a pound in my room and feeling upset about being in France. However I think this last one might have made me emotional because I realise how poor I am having spent all my money on pastries and tours of Provence.

Preach

Maybe it's not just the professors...

If there’s one thing I’ve learnt about being here, it’s to just go with the flow. To put it nicely, the French way of doing things is much more relaxed than the English way of doing things. To put it truthfully, it’s pure, unparalleled, incomprehensible chaos. I’ve spent the last few weeks looking more gormless than ever, which should tell you all you need to know. I’ve finally signed up to my courses after three weeks of being here, and after literally fighting my way into classrooms to get a place. I’m taking French language, Italian language, Histoire de la construction européenne and Les Juifs en France (which, unsurprisingly, was the only course I didn’t have to fight to get into).  However, I must admit that the way that things work here was made out to be a lot worse to me before I arrived than it appears now. Famous last words though, in the next few weeks I’ll find out I’ve signed up to all the wrong courses and that I’m not officially a student in Aix.  But fingers crossed all has been signed up to successfully.  Aside from one unpleasant teacher, the rest are all lovely and more than willing to help if you ask them. The only problem I’ve really had is integration with the French students. As a friend who took part in an Erasmus exchange two years ago has warned me, it’s almost impossible to be treated as an equal with them. Not helped by each lecturer pointing out all the English students individually before the first lecture of each course. Particularly unfortunate and somewhat ironic when a European Studies teacher informs you (in front of a full lecture theatre of French students) that French students hate English students. Why point us out then?! It’s not like we make it obvious for ourselves, sitting at the back of the class with teapots wearing top hats and monocles. On the subject of tea, it is a Europe wide conviction that the English drop everything at 4pm everyday and nothing can start again until we’ve consumed a pot of tea and at least one wedge of cake. The amount of times I’ve had to explain to French people this week that it isn’t the case is dumbfounding.

Some comfort does come in the form of seeing how hard it has been for the Taiwanese students to sign up to courses. As is the norm, they have Chinese names and then names which are from the English speaking world. Of course, one of our teachers has decided real first name or no name at all. Naturally that meant 12 Chinese students having to dictate their names to her, which took up almost the entire first lesson of our French class.

I have, however, managed to worm my way into the French-speaking world by compromising slightly. In exchange for teaching French students English for an hour or so, I’ve made several French friends to sit and speak French with for 2 hours each week. That works out as quite a lot, as it’s happening minimum 4 times a week. It’s great! And it means I can spend most of my time in my new favourite coffee shop, Columbus Coffee Co.  Concerning that I no longer have to tell them my order when I walk in.

Lebanese food

Living arrangements are only getting better. Lilia has asked me a couple of times if I want to join her and a friend for drinks and dinner. I don’t know whether she was just being polite or not, but true to limpet form, I have accepted every offer. We actually found a really great Lebanese place in the centre of Aix which I’ll definitely be going back to. We have also now got a new housemate; Zoe the two month old kitten. Cutest thing ever but we’ve taken to calling her “Villaine” now instead of her original name. We were all pulled into a false sense of security with her, cuddling her and stroking her. Of course the purring suddenly stops and you get clawed. She has also taken to climbing up my legs and pouncing on feet. But she’s so cute you can’t not love her!

Zoe

And then this weekend I returned home for Motty’s 18^th Birthday and party. One of the most mental weekends I have had for a while. 

But I think people are potentially finding my travel stories a bit too samey so I’m going to list things that happened in a nice and concise way so that you can skim read it.

-       Bought tickets. Yay!

-       Air France strike.

-       Flights cancelled.

-       Rebook with BA night before departure

-       Taxi didn’t arrive

-       Went to a taxi rank, stood there for an hour and a half

-       Old man pushed me over and told me to F off before I could get in the first taxi that arrived even though I was there first

-       Tried to guilt trip him by breaking down on the pavement

-       Didn’t work, making me look rather stupid

-       Lilia took me to the airport (amazing)

-       All smooth until I got on the plane apart from the discovery of a Nutella latte

-       Air steward took my bag because there was no room for it in the cabin

-       Stowed it in the COCKPIT. WHAT THE HELL.

-       Told a French man I was bilingual thinking he was English. Regretted that decision.

-       Got to Heathrow Terminal 1

-       Changed to Terminal 5

-       Acquired another stalker (American)

-       Stalker followed me to security

-       Stalker clearly visually impaired as told me I looked nice whilst stood there in a hoodie, leggings and with my signature Toblerone hair

-       Asked me to dinner (why me?)

-       Told me we should go in the family queue for security together

-       I got through security fine

-       He got taken off by the police for making a scene and having mysterious wires in his hand luggage

-       Contemplated why I always attract the crazy and whether this will ever change

-       Ate sorrows in the form of Katsu curry at Wagamamas

-       Walked to gate for connecting flight to Manchester

-       Spotted mini bottle of Jagermeister and decided to buy it for Mot for his birthday

-       Guy at the till asked if I was okay, following up by saying that if I’m a nervous flyer Jagermeister isn’t the answer and that I would be fine.

-       Bought the Jagermeister and didn’t manage to convince him that it wasn’t for me

-       When boarding plane saw pilots taking a selfie

-       Long haul passengers for connecting flight delayed. Waited an hour and a half for them

-       When they arrived, cabin crew approaching the legal limit for working in hours in a day. Waited for new cabin crew.

-       Got to Manchester (miraculously)

The birthday boy

When I eventually got home, the weekend was fabulous. I saw my lovely friends Ellen, Ellie, Emily and Helena and there was even an appearance from Mr Wray! Motty’s party was potentially one of the most ridiculous 18ths I’ve ever been to. But I was in charge of music so I had a brilliant time busting my moves on the dancefloor. And seeing all my family and friends was great even if it was brief. However such a wonderful weekend caused me to have a minor breakdown when I left home. I must stress to all that witnessed the episode, that I do actually really like France. It’s just always really hard to leave home, especially with such a wonderful family and friends. And the weekend was topped off by an upgrade to club class on the way back to Marseille. Awh yeah.

Winner!

 Language blunders

The section makes a comeback. I’m feeling mixed about it. On the one hand blunders are highly embarrassing but on the other hand they make for an astonishingly good laugh.

I went out for dinner with Thomas and when faced with the apparently impossible task of ordering a steak, I attempted to ask the waiter what it was served with. However, instead of saying:

“Ça vient avec quoi?”

I asked the following:

“Ça vient avec toi?”

I basically asked the waiter “And do you come on the side?”

Turns out I’m a lot saucier than I thought.